Honey
by DarKade
Summary: Angst, grief and healing explored through Buffy's enhanced sense of smell. Drabble. Warning: Major character implied death / turning.


It was the first day of spring, and the air smelt of honey.

It had been two months and two days since Willow had gone missing. No screams. No clues. No body. One day there. The next, gone.

You had held her that night. Poor Willow. Your friend had sobbed out her broken heart. Such a nice girl, they said. Such a sweet girl. Willow Danielle Rosenberg. You had held her until there were no more tears, walked your friend back to her dorm so she would be safe.

They tried, bless them. Staring at ancient pages through eyes raw with tears. Tears and dust and less and less words between you as the days stretched on.

No screams. No clues. No body..

You sit on your window ledge, alone. Waiting for sunset, feeling the pull of the night as it rises out of the shadows to consume the town once again. A dog howl echoed through the still campus grounds below..

You think of Willow.

And the air smells like honey.

You don't feel the cut until the fight is over. Until the beast is down and you wrench the axe from its throat. You clutch at your arm, tracing your thumb under the muscle to the gash. Deep. Near to the bone. You feel the muscle shudder and squirm in a sickening, unnatural fashion as they begin to knit. Inhumanly fast. Not fast enough. You crushes the wound shut, wincing stinging sweat into your eyes. Want to fall, but have one last thing to do. It takes all you have to bring down the battle axe down and sever the creatures head.

A pun sits on your lips, bitter against that sickly honey air.

You swallow it down, before the darkness swallows you.

You awake to an acrid smell and searing pain. For a moment, you know that the demon's partner had circled back. This is death. But no. Not yet. You open your eyes to a warm face with sad blue eyes and long dirty blonde hair. The sting and stench from the poultice carefully being applied to your wound.

"Pulling out the venom" the girl says softly. "Sorry if it hurts. Better pain than being slowly zombified and digested from the inside." Her smile is lopsided and she smells of lavender.

Your fever dreams blend the days that follow into ripples of horror. The girl is always close, always at hand with water to cool your burning throat and more foul smelling hoodoo. Her hands feel hot, feel ice cold, feel distant, feel like they are reaching inside your skull. You dream of horrors and heaven, and taste blood and honey.

It has been four days, she tells you as she hands you sweet things to eat and bitter things to drink. You feel clear headed, and the morning sun is glorious through her window.

Her name is Tara. A witch like Willow.

But she is not Willow.

Spring is starting to give way to Summer. Tara now works at The Magic Box with Giles, and business is booming. You always have to wait for a few customers to be served before she spots you standing at the training room door, she always sends you that enigmatic lopsided smile. You always wait, because it always makes your body, aching and tired from training, feel like sparkles and cinnamon.

When the sun dips down and the light grows thick and sweet, you walk her to the dorms. A routine that fills you with the energy you need to run wild each night, wild and hungry for your prey. You slay fast. You slay hard. And you come back the hero to her each night, a warm drink and sometimes soothing salves for your wounds. She is a witch, like Willow was.

Like Willow was. Before the darkness of your life devoured her.

Xander is gone. He said goodbye and packed a meagre bag. Stubble and cold eyes always looking to the horizon. He rode a bike out of Sunnydale. He escaped. But perhaps, you think, as you gaze out across the horizon and smell the sickly sweet air, perhaps even though he left, he never could escape Sunnydale. You know you never could.

You awaken to the sweet smell of Tara all around you. Her arm and her leg draped across you. Your hand warm against her belly. You pull her closer and revel in her. She coos in her sleep and mumbles your name, and it tells you all you need to know.

You kiss her on the first day of summer.

End

* * *

Thanks for reading! Comments are candy.

The companion peice, 'Molasses' is now available here. In case you want to know what ever became of Willow. x


End file.
